


Kill & Run

by BipLing



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 10:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12792558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BipLing/pseuds/BipLing
Summary: The night Amélie returns after being gone for so long, Gérard is overjoyed to see her. Something is off, though?





	Kill & Run

**Author's Note:**

> /I’m one of the dirty guns/
> 
> /A bullet through your heart/

Gérard has been up all night trying to figure out where his beloved could’ve gone, been taken to. Sitting at the coffee table, numerous documents spread out before him in a messy pile. He’s been chain smoking like a fiend since he realized Amélie wasn’t here, trying to keep himself together. Breaking apart wouldn’t bring her back, hopefully, alive. He just knows Talon has something to do with it. In the back of his mind, he can’t help but picture all the horrible things they’d do to her. He grits his teeth, exhaling a thick stream of smoke. His eyes scan each document line for line, like he’s been doing all day. Going over all the video footage he managed to collect from street cameras. Being an Overwatch agent certainly had its perks, especially at a dire time like this. She was here in their apartment, he distinctly remembers receiving a soft kiss from her before he went to sleep. But she never came to bed. Gérard rolled over late at night, feeling the empty, cold space of where she should be, hands groping nothing. He’d been up ever since, refusing to sleep until she’s been found. 

What could they possibly want with her? She was merely a civilian, a threat to no one. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, getting up from his seat. Gèrard starts to pace around the room, running a hand through his slicked hair. He feels useless, waiting around like he is for something to happen. Absently he gnaws on his thumbnail, a habit Amélie would tell him to stop if she was here. He looks into the ornate mirror hanging over the couch, seeing the dark circles under his eyes and the haggard look to him. Maybe.. maybe he should get some sleep. But, he couldn’t get any without his wife next to him. Leaning against the wall, he glances out the open glass doors to the patio. The wind is gently blowing, parting the curtains covering them. There, in the pale moonlight, he swears he sees a flash of familiar blue-black hair and ivory skin. He has to be hallucinating, merely sleep deprivation getting to him. But, an itch gnaws at the back of his mind, urging him to go outside and check. Just to be sure. He stumbles forwards, slowly easing the door open all the way. Warm light streams out from behind him, as his gaze falls on exactly who he thought it was. It’s just a silhouette in the darkness, but he would know it anywhere. It’s his Amélie. Gérard drops his cigarette, mouth agape. He can’t speak for a few moments. Amélie, meanwhile, stares at him - no, through him. When he finds his voice, he breathlessly whispers.

“Amélie..? Chérie?” She responds to her name, focusing on him finally. He takes cautious steps towards her, his arms outstretching to take her into a gentle embrace. Tears stream down his face, all the nervous energy in him being washed away with them. He just feels tired now. Gérard clings to her like a man to a life preserver, pressing his head into her shoulder. She smells strongly of her usual perfume, an expensive brand making it feel like he’s in the middle of a rose garden. She’s also dressed in one of her many silk nightgowns, skin cold to the touch. He runs his hands down her bare arms, trying to rub some warmth into them. “Dear.. you’re freezing cold. Let us get you inside, shall we?” 

Amélie looks like she’s deep in thought, not answering. Her face is vacant. It takes a long while before an amused grin eases onto her lips, a chuckle coming from her. “Gérard, you’re making too much of a fuss over me.” 

His brow furrows, trying to comprehend her reaction. “What do you mean..? You’ve been gone for days?” 

As they speak, Gérard eases her into the apartment by a hand on her waist. They sit down at the couch, her hands intertwined with his. His thumbs gently rub over her knuckles in small circles. He looks into her face, seeing again that vacant expression on it. There’s just.. nothing behind it. No sense of the wit and snark he’s fallen in love with. “Amélie..?” 

“Yes?” 

“Is.. is something wrong?” 

She tilts her head. “Whatever do you mean?” 

“I- I mean you’re not acting like yourself! What happened to you?” 

Amélie narrows her eyes, grimacing. She looks truly puzzled at his question. “I repeat myself. What do you mean by that? Nothing’s happened to me, Chéri.” 

“Then where did you go? Tell me that!” He grits his teeth, trying to hold his drained self together. 

Her eyes go blank once more, as if she’s trying to process an answer. Like she wasn’t prepared for him to ask that question. She speaks slowly, holding one of her hands to her forehead. “I.. I can’t remember. It’s there, but.. not.” 

Everything feels fuzzy, Amélie can scarcely remember a thing that’s happened since that night. It all feels like a blurry dream, only being able to recall incomprehensible bits and pieces. For all she knows she was here the entire time. She looks up into Gérard’s face, seeing how distraught and on the edge of sleep he is. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No, no.. you didn’t do anything. I think.” He wets his lips. “Listen, let’s just figure this all out in the morning, alright? All that truly matters is that my beautiful rose is here with me.” Gérard leans forwards, pressing his forehead to hers. He loved her more than his own life. He would die for her if it came to it. 

Interlocking his fingers with hers, he gently tugs her along to the bedroom. His vision is unfocused. He’s completely ready to pass out at a moment’s notice. Everything is going to be fine in the morning. They lie down on their respective sides, gazing into each other’s eyes. All Gérard feels is love and happiness that she’s finally returned to him. It’s an absolute miracle. Amélie, however, feels nothing. She knows she should feel love, or something like it, but nothing is coming. She can’t even muster it up from inside her. It isn’t that her well of emotion is dry, there’s no well to start with. 

“I love you, Amélie.” His eyes start to flutter closed.

She swallows. “I.. I love you too, Gérard.” If he was more awake he could pick up the hollowness in her words. But, alas, he isn’t. He falls asleep quickly, his gentle snore being the only noise in the room. It should be comforting, but all Amélie feels is restless. There’s something she has to do still before she can rest. Something she was specifically told to do. Like a rat gnawing at the inside of her mind, that Thought grows until the epiphany comes to her. A revelation that opens up everything. Her face drops into that same empty expression, feeling like she’s floating all of a sudden. She’s here but she isn’t at the same time. It’s like somebody else is controlling her body. Malicious intent fills her mind like a wildfire, eating up every trace of her like dry paper. There’s nothing at all, a black void. Then, it’s almost like she’s waking up from a deep sleep, a hibernation. She feels like a butterfly spreading its still wet wings as it frees itself from its cocoon. Widowmaker rolls out of bed, silent, purposeful footsteps as she walks into the kitchen. A pause and glance over her shoulder to make sure Gérard is still asleep. Good. She slowly slides out one of the kitchen knives from the drawer, her movements as poised as if she were on stage, dancing. Every single motion has to be perfect. There can be no mistakes. 

Going back to the room, she slips in as silently as a cat. Her fingers twitch, tightening her grip around the handle of the knife. Eyes focusing entirely on Gérard’s prone body as she moves towards the bed. She slides back into bed as nonchalant as possible, as if she were going to go to sleep. Widow stares at him, making sure he is in fact completely asleep. A fire builds in her chest, an excitement she thought not possible for her. It’s getting closer and closer. The fateful end of this play. It would be an ending worthy of a Shakespeare tragedy. Except only one person will be dying tonight. She eases herself over him, thighs on either side of him. Upraising the knife above her head, she grips it with her other hand. Widowmaker bites her lip, eyes aglow with apprehension. She feels like death himself, come to reap what is owed to him. Tilting her head, she takes this last second to contemplate what a silly man Gérard is. A brief shrug. Adieu, Chéri. She slams the knife down into Gérard’s chest, straight through his heart. Blood spurts out, spattering over her face and hands. He wakes up in a haze, not able to fully comprehend what’s happening, that his end is nigh. She twists it, yanking it out. His voice is quiet, clutching the wound in vain. He stares straight up at her, trembling. 

“A-Amélie.. Why?” 

To her surprise, tears drop down, staining the sheets and mingling with the sprays of blood. She dabs at her eyes with a finger, looking down at the wetness. Where did this come from? No use in pondering over useless things. Her gaze moves back to Gérard, beaming into his eyes. A tiny grin quirks onto her mouth as she watches the bright light fade from them. He takes his final breath. The smell of blood is heavy, mixing with her perfume. She leans back onto her free hand, feeling high from the euphoric bliss that fills her. Widow even starts to snicker to herself, like a schoolgirl that just did something bad. What is this feeling? So sudden and new? It’s the most amazing she’s ever felt before. The afterglow of her first kill. She stares up into the ceiling, the dim lighting casting a long shadow over Gérard’s body. Replaying the final moments over and over in her head, like an encore that never ends. Dropping the knife on the bed, she looks down at the aftermath. At the man she loved, covered in his own blood. Her eyes shift over to the photograph on the nightstand; their wedding photo. A single smear of blood runs over the glass. Widowmaker leans over, picking it up and wiping it off with her thumb. A perfect memento for her to remember this night. It’s hard to believe how things can change so quickly. 

A single death can change everything, after all.


End file.
